Ghost of Christmas Past

I have friends who dutifully record their children's memories in a journal every week.
I wish I was one of those moms.
I am so not.

To be honest, I don't know what my boys' first words were, when they cut their first teeth, or when they took their first steps. I think in my heart, I wanted to write down every moment, but life is so much more busy and complicated than that for me. I'm sure that after enough therapy, they'll learn to forgive me for the fact that their childhood is a fuzzy, very distant blur, filled with whatever embellished, half-truth stories I can conjure up. Oh well.

Every once and a while, however, I sat down to detail a moment purely for the benefit of the relatives that couldn't be present.

Four years ago this month, Jonah had his first meet-and-greet with good ol' San-ty Claus. It was a highly anticipated event, and one that did not disappoint. I found it amusing, so I wrote down the experience and emailed it (along with some photos) to some extended family.

A few weeks ago we took the boys to visit with Kris Kringle at a church function. Jonah was all business and got right to the point. Sam (who had already had a run-in with Santa at the grocery store) wanted nothing to do with him. I got to thinking about how similar that was to Jonah when he was the same age and went looking for the email. Luckily, one of their great-aunts had held onto and graciously sent it my way.

So now I'll share it with all of you.
Merry Christmas!

************************************

Originally emailed on 12/12/06

This past Saturday was our ward Christmas party. Among our festive activities was a scheduled appearance from Santa Claus. This is the first year Jonah has been aware of Santa, thanks to unrelenting commercialism and media brainwashing. He didn't know much about the big red man, but enough to know he was good -- he jingles when he walks, and he brings presents.

Jonah had been looking forward to meeting Santa at the party -- So much so that it became a frequent topic of conversation during the days leading up to the event. He'd walk around the house bellowing, "Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas eddybuddy!" During one conversation, I told him that most likely he'd sit on Santa's lap and Santa would ask if he'd been a good boy at which point he should reply in the affirmative. He would then probably ask what he'd like to receive for Christmas (to which Jonah emphatically replied, "A binky!" -- I later coached him that he might want to say something a little more big-boyish like a toy car, to which Jonah agreed...). At home Jonah would dialogue with his toys, one pretending to be Santa and the other pretending to be him, with those exact questions and answers. The night before the party there was a lot of bouncing around, with constant reminders that it was almost "party time" and "Santa time."

So of course the day arrives and Jonah is a very excited boy. When we got to the church to set up, he ran through the building looking for Santa. The morning probably dragged on for him as he patiently waited for the moment he was to meet Santa. When it was finally time to trek to the Relief Society room to stand in line, Jonah was a 3-year old on speed. He was running up to random kids, yelling in their faces, jumping up and down, turning around in circles, repeating the rehearsed answers to what he thought would be asked of him ("Mommy! I will say "Yes" and "I would like a big red car, please.")... It was all I could do just to get him to keep his hands to himself. At the point we made it to the front of the line, he was so overwhelmed with excitement he was doing what one might call the "pee-pee dance." And then the moment came. It was his turn. He stepped up onto the platform and...froze. He was gently pushed forward and consented to being placed on Santa's lap, but couldn't find any words to say. He didn't crack a smile. He didn't blink. He didn't look the old man in the eye. He didn't even look ME in the eye! He was void of all emotion. He didn't even react to the uncontrollable laughter of all the other adults in the room who know how out of character silence is for Jonah.

It was all too similar to the Santa mall scene in the classic movie, "A Christmas Story." Only this Santa wasn't an alcoholic and Jonah didn't ever snap out of it long enough to place his gift request.

When he was handed back to me, it took him a few seconds to shake off the...fear? Awe? Numbness? After that, it was as if he'd just hung out with a rock star -- he was elated and ready to tell anyone who crossed his path. It'd be interesting to know what went on in his head during his 30 seconds with Santa. Probably nothing.

Kids crack me up. Enjoy the photos.

Jonah, age 3

Because "things" should be flushed...

Sam just got out of bed for the millionth time tonight to tell me that his "diaper is falling off."

Child, if you are articulate enough to tell me in plain English that you are having an issue with your diaper, you are TOO OLD to be wearing one.

When I write a parenting book, my chapter on toilet training is going to go something like this:

"Remember how you were told that its best to let your child decide when its time to potty-train? THAT'S WRONG. Kids don't know anything. That's why they eat stuff they find in the gutter."

Starting next week, we're getting serious about ditching the diaper.
No - wait - scratch that. Next week won't work. I have two weddings, and there's no way that Tyler (blesshisheart) can be trusted to enforce the rigid, Nazi-like potty schedule that leads to eventual underwear freedom. I guess starting next, NEXT week, we'll be getting serious. Serious-er than I've been able to be this summer, anyway. Any suggestions? Bribes, rewards, charts, and stickers have so far proven to be completely useless and have yielded little more than wasted money, spoiled appetites, and Hot Wheel-induced foot-pad bruises.

I bought a box of 108 diapers from Target today. I'm going to go out on a limb and pledge that it will be my last purchase of diapers for this child. (Pull-ups don't count, though. I'll be darned if this boy thinks I'm going to get up in the middle of the night to change wet sheets.) With the extra $25 I'll be saving each month, I will buy chocolate milk. Lots and lots of chocolate milk. Because after potty-training "Stubborn Sam," by golly, I am going to deserve it.

Photo credit: Target. Not my kid. But the resemblance is amazing...huh?

Shabby Apple Dress Sale!

UPDATE: The sale has been canceled. But I'm keeping this up because by posting about it, I also entered a little contest, and I want to win it!

I'm in search of a dress for a certain family wedding coming up soon. If I can swing it, I'll be attending the Shabby Apple Garden Party dress sale on Saturday. Could I possibly be so lucky as to find an eggplant or green colored dress to fulfill my soon-to-be sister-in-law's request? We shall see. Anyone care to join me?

Why I am not an ENT.

Before I needed health insurance so I could get pregnant (Tyler was a full-time student), I worked at as a Rec Therapy Tech at a "Rehabilitation Center."

That's a fancy way of saying "Nursing Home."

During my time there, I learned one very important fact about myself:

I do not have a weak stomach.

I saw stuff there. Nasty stuff. Stuff that trumped any gross or unsanitary or shouldn't-be-discussed-at-the-dinner-table experience I had had up to that point. But as with anyone who works in the health care field, you get used to it because you see it every day. Believe me, I could tell you stories that would make your toes curl...but I won't. Blech.

So once the children began invading my home and life, I felt pretty prepared for anything they could throw at me. Blow-out diapers? Piece of cake. Puke all over the couch (or down my shirt)? No problem. Cracked-open heads? Please. I'm on it. Smells, sights, residue...no effect. I'm like a machine.

EXCEPT --

...for boogers. Or boagies (rhymes with "hoagie") as well call them at our house. Nasal secretion or mucus of any kind. {Insert dry-heave} Those make my skin crawl. They make the very hairs on my neck stand up straight, cause me to feel dizzy, and illicit the desire to run and lock myself in the bathroom. I don't know what it is, but...GROSS!

These "issues" are common knowledge among those I am close to because my snot-aversion runs deep. So deep that I think I may have led my children to believe that nose picking is downright shameful. We don't do it. Not in front of mom, anyway.

This past week, however, I've learned that I've been living a pipe dream.
I have been deceived.



As time allows, I am slowly cleaning the Holladay house now that everything is moved out of it. For the most part, I've just been chasing dust bunnies...until I ended up in Jonah's old room. What I thought was just a bunch of dirty hand/foot smudges by his bed ended up being something entirely different. (You parents know what I'm talking about.) If I wasn't so aesthetically obsessive, I probably would have just reached for the Killz Primer. Instead, I spent the better part of an hour meticulously removing the evidence of Jonah's late-night nose-cleanings off the wall. Shudder.

A few days later Jonah and I decided to clean out the car while Sam was napping. I don't do this nearly as often as I should, so when I clean, I CLEAN. I pulled out the boys' boosters so we could get underneath them. Jonah's seat was especially dirty. Upon further inspection, however, I noticed the entire right side of the seat was covered in dried boogers. Covered!!!

"Jonah Randall! Are these boagies? Are they? ARE THEY???"

No response beyond a smirk.

"You think that's funny, huh? Its NOT funny! It's disgusting! Guess what you get to do now? Clean them all off. Every single one of them. Or you owe me $17,000."

Okay. I admit it. Threatening that a six year old is going to owe me 17 Grand is probably a little overkill. But in case I haven't made myself clear, I can not stomach the boogers!

He scrubbed, and picked, and flicked, and vacuumed, and in the end, he got the entire seat clean. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to beat a dead horse, though, so I brought it up -- a few times -- during dinner that night. And I think I made my point. Which will probably be remembered for all of two days before the boagie wiping resumes.

My crack-up (Sam) wanted in on the action, though, too.

Today we were standing in line at IKEA when he held his finger out to me and said, "Look, Mom. A boagie!"

Sure enough, there was a big wad of nastiness perched on the tip of his pointer. "Sam, that's gross. We don't pick our nose. If you have something in your nose, please ask for a tissue."

I began reaching into my purse for a proper disposal method, to which he responded by looking me straight in the eye and giving me the most devilish grin a child can muster, while slowly bringing his finger toward his mouth.

"Sam, don't you -- Don't you DARE! --- SAM! --"

Quick as lightning, he shoved his finger in his mouth and ended with an exaggerated, GULP.



I haven't had an appetite all day...

To: You, From: Me

I used to pride myself on being a decent gift-giver.

I've always tried to put a lot of thought into my gifts (or at least I did before D Street began and gift cards became my first line of defense). In the initial stages of choosing a gift, I would often think to myself, "What does this person want that they don't know they want?" I believe in leaving "needs" out of the equation completely. I may NEED a shower caddy for the downstairs bathroom, but do I really want to receive that as a gift? (The same goes for socks and underwear -- and I say that in all seriousness because I have family members who actually put said items on their Christmas lists!)

I like to give items that the recipient may otherwise not think of purchasing (or be able to justify purchasing) for themselves. Gifts should be fun! Unexpected! Met with anticipation! Not something off a checklist of mediocre household goods.

(Buy your kids their own dang underwear. I'm getting them a Barbie.)

This topic has been the source of many conversations in the Eves household. We didn't do "lists" in the Crocker home growing up, and as a result, there was a genuine element of surprise as we opened each present. Gifts my parents gave me ranged from the truly awesome (think diamond tennis bracelet as a 17 year old) to rather puzzling (like the hot-pink fanny-pack with the hydration bladder my dad gave me...when I was 8?!). The excitement that came from not knowing what to expect really increased my appreciation for the act of giving and receiving. And that's something I've tried to recreate in my own family.

Tyler's is a list-family, which has taken some getting used to. There are benefits to lists, I agree. You don't have to worry about whether or not the receiver will like the gift, you get what you need, etc. But like I said, I have problems with those very things because it squashes the element of surprise for the recipient and requires little thought/effort from the giver. The times I've strayed from the lists I've gotten some weird looks, but I keep trying. I like to think that my subtle influence helped encourage my in-laws to take a leap of faith and surprise us with non-list-dictated gifts a number of years ago. They brought out big boxes one Christmas and had the daughters-in-law open them at the same time. Under the wrapping was a set of All-Clad pots and pans. It was completely unexpected. I don't know how my SIL felt about her All Clad because I was too busy screaming and jumping up and down with joy. My father-in-law still says that was the coolest reaction to a gift he's ever seen. And that's kind of what I think we all should shoot for in the gifts we give -- but maybe with a much lower price tag!

Tyler started to catch on to this idea a few years ago. Poor guy -- can't bring me flowers (duh), can't buy me clothes (too small, nothing fits), can't take me out on the weekends (my work days) -- What's a guy to do? Somehow he remembered a bit of late-night chatter regarding luxury items that I intended to purchase someday when I'm old and comfortable, simply because I can. The two items at the top of my list were a Dooney and Burke handbag, and a Mason-Pearson hairbrush. Silly things, really, but things that seemed to signify wealth and sophistication when I was growing up. My mother actually had a Mason-Pearson hairbrush and whenever I had the opportunity, I would sneak into her bathroom and use it. I can still feel those boar bristles gliding down my hair like honey. Its the brush of celebrities. So decadent, so luxurious, so...frivolous. But when I opened up my birthday present one year to find a shiny, handmade Mason-Pearson staring back at me, I gulped. Tyler was ecstatic that he got me something I always wanted, I was reeling from the fact that he had spent over $100 on a HAIRBRUSH. A brush that actually comes with care instructions. A brush that has its own brush to clean it. A brush that doesn't do anything in particular. You can't style your hair with it. Its more of a Marsha Brady-type brush (use it before bed and admire how shiny your hair looks). It was a surprise, to say the least, but after I got over the initial sticker shock (darned joint-accounts!), I was reminded of how nice it is to be spoiled sometimes and how a well-thought gift really can make you feel like a million bucks, if only for a moment.

I was thinking about this as I was brushing my hair tonight. I really DO need a shower caddy for the downstairs bathroom (among a trillion other things!), but would I trade my little piece of well-thought indulgence for those perceived needs? I don't think so. Not just because the hairbrush makes my hair soft and shiny and perfect right before I throw it into a bedtime ponytail (and holy-mama, IT DOES!), but because of what it represents. It was the perfect type of gift, and it makes me think of the man who gave it to me each time I put it to use. So in that sense, mission accomplished.

A couple days ago it was Tyler's 34th birthday and I got him nothing. Not even a card. I jest that I bought him a house and that's good enough for a while, but really, I'm ashamed of how lax my gift-giving rituals have become. So now I need to recommit myself to the art of giving gifts and find something to do to make up for this birthday faux pas.

I haven't a clue what to do or get. It'll take some thought, for sure.





...Maybe a Dooney and Burke handbag?

Kindergarten Recap

Kindergarten is over.
What a year!

I didn't know what to expect going in to the school year. Being that Jonah is my first child, I was rather unprepared as to common school-parent etiquette. When the teacher asked for parents to sign up for ONE class activity in order to give every parent a turn, I signed up for one (I now know that a pushy mom can be in the kindergarten class as much as she wants. If only I were a pushy mom...). When the first day of school rolled around, I had no idea I was supposed to provide the teacher with a gift/bribe of cookies, candies, flowers, or gift certificates to get her to like ME...I mean, my child. In the same vein, I didn't realize that Valentine's Day required a similar $20 gift, or that I was supposed to know her when her birthday was (how do parents get a hold of that kind of information???). I'm not so dumb that I didn't send Jonah with a gift for Christmas and Teacher Appreciation Week, but they weren't large and didn't boast any kind of bravado. Although our gifts were probably smaller than the other students', I think the handwritten notes we included provided the sentiment we were trying to convey. I didn't know how to invite Jonah's classmates to our home for a play date, I felt awkward around the other moms who obviously knew each other from the neighborhood/church, I never found the time to get involved in the PTA (even though I paid the dues...I wouldn't have known how to get involved anyway, I guess), and I must admit I did let Jonah skip three days of school to play with his visiting cousins. I often wished there was a handbook for new-to-school-parents. But alas, I stumbled through the year, worrying about whether or not Jonah was making friends, whether he was happy, and whether he was figuring out who he wanted to be. In kindergarten.

I learned a lot about Jonah this year. Having had no other children to compare him to, I figured he was average on all levels. (okay, I knew he was more energetic than most, and a little uncoordinated, but he is MY child, so...) I learned his level of enthusiasm blows most kids out of the water. Everything is fun. Everything is exciting. Everything is cool. I think that's great. It scared a lot of his classmates off in the beginning, but I think they learned to love him for it. I also learned that he has a brilliant little mind. I am one of those parents that feel strongly that children should be children. They should be allowed to have fun and explore and live life carefree for as long as possible, because heaven knows kids grow up too fast. So I never did a single flashcard with him, I didn't enroll him in any enrichment activities prior to school, I didn't drill him on his letters, numbers, how to write his name, how to use a pair of scissors or color in the lines...I didn't expect him to know ANYTHING, really. I just wanted him to be a kid. Somehow, he walked into kindergarten knowing how to read (I blame TV), and from day one, he just took off academically. His teacher was a little perplexed and concerned by how quickly he learned and how far ahead of his classmates he was/is. When she expressed her concern that he should be instructed at a second grade curriculum that year, my response was, "Uhhh...der...um...duh..." I didn't coach him to be that way. I didn't even CARE that he was that way. I just wanted him to be confident and happy. So it ended up being a challenging year, trying to keep him occupied in class and trying to provide him with valuable learning opportunities at school while the rest of the class was doing something completely different. He rolled with it really well and his teacher did her best to teach him outside the kindergarten curriculum while at the same time managing his high level of energy (and the distraction it often created). I laid awake many nights, wondering what I was going to do with him and how I was going to keep him motivated. But in the end, Tyler and I have decided we'll just take each year as it comes. Skipping grades isn't an option because socially, he's very young. VERY, very young. But he's an unassuming kind of smart for now, which is nice and which means it shouldn't get in the way of his learning to effectively interact/relate with other kids. Learning to make real, lasting connections with other children will be an ongoing challenge in the years to come, as they have been up to this point.

He's so weird its lovable. At least I think its lovable. My greatest hope is always that other people will feel that way too.

He often makes comments about how much he likes himself. I think I fail in so many respects when it comes to motherhood (don't we all?), but when I hear him say things like that, its a reassurance that I'm at least doing something right. And I like him, too.

His favorite classes this year were P.E. and computers. He loves reading, writing, math, and science. Art is okay, but music was boring. And recess...well, recess ROCKS.

It was a year spent commuting. We figured we would have moved a long time ago. As it turned out, we didn't live in that house even one day this school year. Out of the entire year, we only had two tardies. Not too bad, for a kid who doesn't even live in the same town as his school!

So today was the last day of kindergarten. He was excited for the summer, and as I picked him up, I expected to see a 6 year old tornado of energy bursting through the school doors, screaming some nonsensical comment about upcoming summer festivities. Instead, as the other children were running past him, Jonah approached me rather solemnly.

"I don't want to say goodbye to my class."

I wrapped my arms around him. "Are you feeling a little sad?"

With that, he burst into tears. Sobbing, he told me how much he didn't want the school year to be over, how he didn't want a new class next year, how he would miss his friends, and how he loved his teacher. When my child cries (for good reason), I cry. So the two of us were frozen in the middle of the playground -- me on my knees holding a crumpled little boy -- in tears. When his teacher shuffled out after the last of the kids, she approached us explaining he was upset about something that had happened in class, but when I told her he was sad because he didn't want the school year to end, she joined us in our mid-playground hug and said that was the nicest thing that had happened to her all day. (He later told me he wanted to schedule a play-date with his teacher...so cute, so naive.)

When we pulled ourselves together, we made our way to the car for the last time in his kindergarten year. I reflected on how much he has grown this year -- both physically, and socially. I thought about how quickly this is all passing me by, and how lucky I am to have been given the charge to care for such a wonderfully sensitive, forgiving, kind-hearted, dynamic little person.

We talked about how its okay to miss people, but that we should always try to remember the fun experiences we've had, and look forward to new experiences and new people that will give us even more opportunities to learn and grow.

And then we went to MacDonald's and got chocolate milkshakes. Because milkshakes make everything better.

How to Body Slam...by Jonah

Tutorials always come in handy, right?

Ever wondered how to body slam your friend/brother/Pokemon opponent? Look no further. Jonah has created a "Body Slam How-To" for your viewing pleasure.

Take copious notes -- you never know when you'll need this type of information.